


want you to unravel me

by groundopenwide



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: 3+1, Friends to Lovers, M/M, because I'm too lazy to do 5+1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21553027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundopenwide/pseuds/groundopenwide
Summary: Three times Dan kisses Kyle, plus one time Kyle kisses him first.
Relationships: Kyle Simmons/Dan Smith
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	want you to unravel me

**Author's Note:**

> whelp, these two have officially taken over my life. i read everything in the ao3 tag in the span of like...two weeks? and now here i am. i haven’t written much of anything since I finished my undergrad thesis a year and a half ago, so this is just a quick little thing to try and get my groove back.
> 
> i relied heavily on wikipedia for the timeline and certain details, so if anything is off, it’s not my fault, i swear. this also isn't beta’d, nor britpicked- sorry in advance for any mistakes!
> 
> title taken from [this song.](https://open.spotify.com/track/7BdXiDH2bPhBuPP2jTwRZB?si=8NroZtzrR0mKfkJ_pxWnZQ)

**1.**

**2011**

The day they sign with Virgin Records is, ironically, a cold and miserable one. The temperature had dropped below freezing the night before, leaving the London sidewalks covered in thin, almost invisible patches of ice.

Inside the shitty pub where they’re celebrating, though, the heat is blasting, and Dan has never felt better. It probably helps that he’s smashed. Like, spectacularly smashed, never mind the fact that it’s two in the afternoon on a Wednesday. The room has that hazy, swimming quality it always takes on after enough alcohol. Dan is warm and happy, delirious almost, tucked up into a corner booth with three of his best mates. His _bandmates._ They’re a band, a real band, and they’re going to put out an album and tour the world and win awards—

“He’s thinking too hard again. Stop that!” Kyle’s booming voice breaks Dan’s reverie. “We’re celebrating, damn it.”

He grabs the pitcher from the center of the table and goes to refill Dan’s glass, but he’s drunk and uncoordinated enough that more of the beer ends up on the table than actually _inside_ the glass. Woody starts howling with laughter. Will just shakes his head, grinning. With a shrug, Dan picks up the half-empty pint and downs it anyway.

Satisfied, Kyle pounds his fist on the table a couple of times. “There’s a lad!”

Will and Woody cheer in approval as well. Dan puts his empty glass down on the table and leans back in his seat, but misjudges and ends up sort of smushed against Kyle’s side. He should move away, but Kyle doesn’t try to push him off, and Dan is just so comfortable. He rests his cheek against Kyle’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

“Like a needy cat, he is,” says Will, laughing.

Dan squints his eyes open again and flips Will the bird, which only makes him laugh more. 

“A grumpy, needy cat,” Kyle agrees. He rubs his hand playfully over the top of Dan’s head, making a mess of his hair, which was barely tamed to begin with. Dan scowls and ducks away from him, earning another bout of laughter from the rest of the table.

“I’m going for a wee,” Dan announces. He clambers out of the booth and pauses for a moment once he’s on two feet to regain his bearings. The world around him is swaying a little, like he’s in one of those wave pools where the water just keeps rolling, rolling, rolling. 

“Kyle, make sure he doesn’t knock himself out on the way to the loo, would you?” says Woody.

“I’ll do my very best.” Kyle offers Woody a mock salute, then slides out of the booth only slightly more gracefully than Dan had. He loops his arm around Dan’s shoulders and starts to pull him in the direction of the loos, sing-songing, “off we go, little one!”

“I don’t need a sitter,” Dan protests, but allows Kyle to drag him along anyway. 

Kyle can’t seem to walk much straighter than Dan, so they hold each other up the whole way. Somehow they make it to the loo in one piece, stumbling through the swinging door one after the other. Dan props himself up on the sinks with both hands and waits for things to stop spinning. In the mirror, he can see Kyle leaning up against the wall behind him.

“Kyle,” Dan says, all of a sudden very serious. 

Kyle’s reflection raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah?”

“Kyle,” Dan says again. He turns away from the mirror to face the real Kyle, just to make sure he has his full attention. “We have a record deal.”

Kyle smiles wider than Dan’s ever seen— _ever._ His face splits right open, so bright that Dan has to blink as he looks up at it. He feels woozy, stomach swooping like he’s on a rollercoaster. Must be the drinks. Also, wow, has Kyle’s smile always been that nice?

When he blinks again, Kyle is right in front of him, placing both of his hands on Dan’s shoulders like a dad giving his son a pep talk before a football match. 

“We’re gonna be famous,” Kyle declares in a whisper.

“You think?”

“Yeah, mate. Proper famous. Pyramid stage at Glasto famous.”

He’s still grinning, pupils blown from the alcohol and the dim lighting. Dan grins back, can’t help it—the enthusiasm is contagious. And then, before his drunk brain can second guess it, he leans in and presses a kiss right to Kyle’s smiling mouth. 

It only lasts a few seconds. Dan’s movements are sloppy enough that he almost misses Kyle’s mouth at first, their noses bumping before their lips finally slot together. Kyle makes a surprised noise against his mouth but doesn’t move away. His lips are warm and slightly chapped, and his hands are still on Dan’s shoulders. He squeezes them, just once. 

The movement startles Dan into breaking the kiss. He rocks back on his heels, trying to shake the drunken fuzziness from his head. 

“That was for luck,” he eventually says.

And Kyle—Kyle just laughs, a full, drunken thing that makes Dan start laughing too. Soon, they’re both doubled over against the sinks, wiping tears from their eyes.

“Dan Smith, you are a right nutter,” Kyle says.

“Sure, but soon I’ll be a _famous_ nutter,” Dan replies, which makes them both crack up all over again.

**2.**

**2014**

Miracles do happen, because Dan is wearing an actual _suit—_ coat, tie, the whole shebang. 

Normally, he’d be putting up a massive fuss at having to dress like a penguin, and sure, at present he sort of feels like he’s suffocating under his collar, but it’s alright, because they’ve _just won a fucking BRIT award._

They’re at the after party now, and people who Dan’s only ever seen on the telly keep coming up to say congratulations. David Bowie just hugged him, for christ’s sake. Like, in what universe do Dan Smith and David Bowie even breathe the same air? This one, apparently, and that realization makes Dan down the rest of the champagne in his glass in one go.

Beside him, Kyle looks just as overwhelmed as Dan feels. “What is happening,” he says.

“Mate, you tell me.”

Kyle shakes his head in wonderment. “A BRIT award. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Dan looks down at his empty flute, then sideways at Kyle, whose own glass is long gone. 

“Need a breather?” he asks.

Kyle looks back at him, the relief evident on his features. “Please.”

Woody has his girlfriend to keep him company, and Will is busy chatting with Ellie Goulding across the room, so Dan snags two fresh glasses from a passing waiter before he and Kyle slip out of the room unnoticed. They head past coat check and up a flight of stairs that opens onto a blessedly deserted hallway. Dan sits down right there on the floor, and Kyle follows suit, their backs resting side by side against the wall and legs outstretched in four parallel lines.

“Better?” Kyle asks.

“Better,” Dan says, passing Kyle a glass.

They drink in silence, both taking a minute to just appreciate the quiet. This is why they get on so well—as loud and outrageous as Kyle can be most of the time, he also has these small moments of introspection. Whenever they’re together, he’s either bringing Dan out of his shell or content to simply share the silence with him. It’s a delicate balance, and yet Kyle always seems to know what Dan needs, which way to tip the scales.

Kyle knocks his foot against Dan’s, a gentle _tap_. “I told you.”

“What?”

“That we’d be famous.”

Dan laughs. “You did. God. How’d we even end up here?”

“Luck, I reckon,” Kyle says.

Startled, Dan glances at him. Kyle’s already looking back, all of the laughter suddenly gone from his face. His gaze is intent, almost like he’s...waiting for something.

Dan swallows, his mouth very, very dry. 

They’ve never talked about it, about what happened in the pub after they got signed. Dan’s own memory of the day is a blur thanks to the adrenaline and the alcohol. He’s always assumed Kyle didn’t remember much either, that it was a one-off, a casual thing between mates. Has he had it wrong this whole time?

He sets his glass down on the floor beside him, hand shaking. Kyle copies the motion. Then Dan leans over, cups his hand around the back of Kyle’s neck, and kisses him.

Despite the holes in his memory, Dan already knows that this kiss is loads better than the first one. They’re both much more sober, for one thing. They’re also expecting it this time, so their lips find each other on the first try. Kyle’s mouth yields almost immediately under Dan’s, warm and wet, and _oh,_ that’s his tongue in Dan’s mouth, his teeth on Dan’s lower lip. 

This kiss—Dan feels this kiss all the way down to his toes.

Kyle slides his hands inside Dan’s suit jacket to grab his hips and pull him closer. Dan goes willingly until he’s halfway in Kyle’s lap, his own heartbeat ringing in his ears. He can feel the rough scrape of Kyle’s beard against his chin, knows that there’ll be burn marks there tomorrow. It’s hard to care, though, when Kyle’s kissing him like they’re a couple of teenagers in the back of a dark cinema.

When they finally separate, Dan feels lightheaded. Kyle’s lips are slick and swollen, and Dan only realizes he’s still staring at them when Kyle clears his throat.

“We should...” he starts. Pauses, then tries again. “Downstairs. The party. We should, uh, get back.”

So they aren’t going to talk about it. Alright. That’s fine. Completely fine.

Dan slides off of Kyle’s legs and runs a hand through his hair. He can tell without even looking that it’s a disaster. “The party. Right.”

Kyle looks at him for a few more weighted seconds, then rises to his feet. He reaches out a hand to help Dan up, and Dan takes it. If he holds on for a little too long once he’s standing, well, who’s to say? It’s not like anyone else is there to see it.

**3.**

**2018**

“Where’s Kyle?” Dan asks the stage at large.

Tonight’s the first show of the Reorchestrated Tour, AKA the biggest, craziest thing the band has ever undertaken, and they’re supposed to start their final soundcheck in five minutes, but Kyle is _nowhere to be found_. Dan’s checked the dressing room, the loo, the tour bus, everywhere he can think of—nothing. And yeah, alright, now he’s in a bit of a panic.

Charlie looks up from tuning his guitar. “Out having a smoke, I’d imagine,” he says.

“Kyle doesn’t smoke. Hasn’t since uni.”

“Well, desperate times, desperate measures I guess.”

“What are you on about?”

Dan’s confusion must show on his face, because Charlie’s brow furrows. “Mate, you didn’t hear? He and Janna ended things last night.”

Dan blinks. “What?”

“Yeah. I guess him constantly being gone on tour just got to be too much. She called it off right before he left…” Charlie trails off. “Sorry, I figured you knew.”

Dan _hadn’t_ known, and that’s the most shocking thing—more shocking than the breakup itself, even. He’s always considered his friendship with Kyle to be the strongest out of the band. They’re close, have been forever, and not once has Kyle kept something from him, especially not something like this. The thought that Kyle hadn’t wanted to share this, for whatever reason, makes Dan feel a bit sick to his stomach.

Kyle does show up, eventually, about ten minutes after soundcheck is supposed to start. Nobody says anything about it, and they rehearse like normal.

The rest of the day passes in a flash. Before Dan knows it, he’s onstage in front of thousands of people with his very own orchestra backing him, and it sounds fucking _magical._ Perfect, even. They don’t miss a note. But Dan can see the tightness in Kyle’s shoulders, the way he locks his jaw in a hard line whenever he isn’t singing. He doesn’t relax in the slightest for the entirety of the show. As soon as the encore is over and the deafening applause has subsided, he books it out to the tour bus, hardly stopping long enough to discard his in-ears. Dan watches him go, his chest aching. 

Woody follows Dan’s gaze toward Kyle’s retreating back. “Just needs his space, I s’pose.”

“Right. Fuck that,” Dan says. “I’m going to check on him.”

He changes out of his sweat-drenched show clothes at lightning speed, then heads out to the bus. It’s dead quiet onboard. Either none of the others have made it out of the venue yet, or they’re purposefully giving Kyle a few moments to himself, which seems the more likely option. Dan treads past the empty common area to the bunks in the back.

“Kyle, mate, you here?” he calls.

The answer comes after a too-long pause. “Yeah.”

Dan finds Kyle lying flat on his back in his bunk, eyes glued to the ceiling. He looks like he’s in a fucking coffin or something, just waiting for death to take him. He hasn’t even bothered to close the privacy curtain. 

“Alright?” Dan asks quietly.

Kyle turns his head, just enough to meet Dan’s gaze. “Peachy.”

Dan looks at him, at the dark smudges beneath his eyes and the weary set of his forehead. He’s such a far cry from his usual animated self that it makes Dan’s heart physically hurt. 

Dan hesitates, then says, “budge over.”

“What?”

“I’m coming in. Move it.” 

He punctuates the statement by giving Kyle’s shoulder a light shove. Kyle blinks at him, opens his mouth like he’s going to protest, but no sound comes out. Eventually, he scoots back against the wall and opens up a sliver of space at the edge of the too-small bunk. Dan climbs in and lies down so that they’re face to face, his head resting on the pillow right next to Kyle’s. 

“What the fuck, Dan,” Kyle says, voice barely more than a whisper. 

Their bodies are essentially pressed together from head to toe, thanks to the crampedness of the bunk. Dan can feel Kyle’s breath on his face when he speaks. It smells faintly of nicotine.

“You could’ve told me,” Dan says.

Kyle sighs. “So, who did tell you? Will?”

“Charlie.”

“Wanker,” Kyle says without heat. “I was gonna tell you. Just—hadn’t quite yet figured out how. Didn’t want you feeling fucking sorry for me too, you know.”

Dan smiles faintly. “Too late.”

“Yeah.”

They both fall silent. Kyle closes his eyes and rolls over to face the wall, which is probably Dan’s cue to leave him be, but Dan doesn’t go. Instead, he reaches behind himself to close the privacy curtain, shrouding them in darkness. Then he shifts forward to curl up against Kyle’s back, until they’re almost spooning, but not quite. He presses a gentle kiss against the nape of Kyle’s neck.

“You’re such a fucking weirdo,” Kyle whispers without any heat.

“Shut up and go to sleep,” Dan whispers back.

**+1.**

**2019**

Reading Festival is fucking _insane_. They’ve played for plenty of high energy crowds before, but tonight’s show...Dan can’t even find the words. He’d felt unstoppable on that stage, listening to everyone scream his own words back at him and watching them leap off the ground in unison, like a heart beating in perfect time to the drums. Dan’s whole body is vibrating as the band runs backstage after their final bows.

“Fuck me, that was crazy!” Kyle shouts. He drapes himself over Dan’s sweaty back, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and resting one palm against his chest. “Did you see them all during _A Million Pieces_? Unreal.”

Dan is still struggling to catch his breath, but he manages a laugh. “It was wild,” he agrees.

“We’re drinking tonight, lads,” Woody declares. He’s somehow already procured a bottle of Jameson from who knows where, which he lifts into the air like a torch. “A show like that, we’ve earned it.”

“Hear, hear!” Kyle calls. 

“Someone better find me a cup—I’ll drink, but I refuse to miss the fucking Foo Fighters for it,” says Will.

“Charlie, find us some cups!” says Woody.

“Fuck you, mate,” says Charlie, but he’s already passing around a stack of solo cups, grinning. 

Dan takes two, one for himself and for Kyle, who’s still clinging to him like a koala. He waits for Woody to fill their cups and then pushes one into Kyle’s free hand. “You’re fucking heavy,” Dan tells him.

“And you’re shaking like a leaf,” Kyle says back. His lips are right against Dan’s ear, and when his beard grazes Dan’s cheek, it sets off a thousand tiny fireworks beneath his skin. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” Dan says, taking a big gulp of his drink. “Just adrenaline, you know.”

“Are you two coming or what?” Charlie interrupts, tipping his head towards the exit, where Woody and Will have already taken off into the crowd. “Foo Fighters are on in twenty.”

“We’ll catch up,” Kyle tells him before Dan can answer.

Charlie shrugs and wanders off, leaving the two of them alone backstage. Kyle finally releases his death grip on Dan’s shoulders and downs his drink in one go, throat bobbing as he swallows. Dan watches for too long before chugging the rest of his own drink. When he’s done, he only feels the smallest bit more settled—his skin still feels like it’s pulled too tight over his bones, and his ears won’t stop ringing. He swears he can still hear the crowd screaming.

“You were on fucking _fire_ out there,” Kyle says suddenly.

“Oh.” Dan runs a hand over the top of his head, flustered. “Thanks, mate.”

It’s rather dark back here in the stage wings now that the sun has set, the only real light coming from the monitor station in the corner and the eerie red glow of the exit sign over the door. Dan feels more than sees Kyle step closer. He lets Kyle take the empty cup from his hands and dispose of it, and he only jumps slightly when Kyle returns and brushes his fingers against Dan’s hip, anchoring him in place.

“I couldn’t stop staring at you,” Kyle admits. “You were—fucking magnetic. Almost messed up a few chords, I was so distracted.”

Dan doesn’t know what to say to that. He stares up at Kyle, trying to silently convey the question that his brain can’t seem to put it into words.

“I’m…” Kyle blows out a frustrated breath. “Fuck. I’m trying to say that I—I fucking like you, okay. Like, properly. As more than a friend.”

Dan’s brain drops offline. “You—what?”

“When we made out after the BRITs that year, I thought—maybe. But you never brought it up, after, and then I met Janna, and...well, you know how that turned out.” Kyle smiles, a self-deprecating little thing, then looks away. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot this year, though. It, as in—you. And I think it’d be wicked if we made out again? But, like, more than once. And maybe with feelings this time, if you…?”

Kyle’s voice trails off, and he meets Dan’s gaze again, dark eyes glinting in the dim light. He looks nervous, stupidly nervous, yet also hopeful. Dan doesn’t know whether to kick him or kiss him.

“ _I_ never brought it up,” he finally mutters. “You absolute tosser. You never brought it up either! And ‘with feelings,’ christ—what the fuck do you think I’ve been doing this whole time—”

The rest of his rant dies in his throat because Kyle is kissing him. Kyle is _kissing him._ He still has one hand on Dan’s waist, and the other comes up to cup Dan’s face, thumb on his chin to gently draw his mouth open. Kyles slip his tongue into Dan’s mouth, his mustache tickling Dan’s upper lip, and Dan just holds on, winding his fingers in the front of Kyle’s stupid rainbow shirt to tug him closer.

(They make it in time for the last four songs of the Foo Fighters set. Will takes one look at their flushed faces and wrinkled clothes and shakes his head. “Fuck you guys. Seriously.”

“Nice beard burn,” Charlie tells Dan.

At that, Kyle starts laughing his arse off, and doesn’t stop for the rest of the night.)

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on [tumblr](http://groundopenwide.tumblr.com) if you want, i don't bite!


End file.
